


An Act of Kindness

by greyhavensking



Series: you are the future [5]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Fluff, I don't do sad for too long, M/M, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Steve and Bucky didn't grow up together, This might qualify as crack, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, but they hug each other so like all's well in the end, more than i'd intended anyway, much manhandling, some unintended feels at the end there
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-20
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-06-26 14:51:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15665430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greyhavensking/pseuds/greyhavensking
Summary: In which Bucky Barnes ignores personal boundaries and Steve Rogers gets increasingly flustered.(Or five times Bucky manhandled Steve + one time it was the other way around)





	1. Chapter 1

“What is this? Did I step into a harlequin romance without realizing it?”

“Stark, you’re being ridiculous. This is obviously an alternate reality and those two aren’t  _ our  _ Steve and Bucky.”

“Right, of course, the logistics of that make perfect sense. Thanks for clearing that up for me, Barton.”

“Just doing my part.”

“Clint!” Steve snaps into the comms, glowering. “Leave it alone, will you? Nothing strange is going on.”

“Cap, I really beg to differ,” Clint replies after a tense moment of silence from all sides. “If that were anyone else you’d be throwing a fit over being treated all gentle-like. Hell, I tried to give you a hug last week and you practically took a swing at me!”

Heat suffuses Steve’s cheeks as he admits, only to himself, that Clint is right. Huffing out an exasperated breath (if only for his teammates’ benefit), Steve hooks his chin over Bucky’s shoulder and hugs his knees tighter to the man’s sides. Bucky, for his part, says nothing, either through the comms or simply to Steve; he hitches Steve a little higher up his back and continues his determined march back to the quinjet, eyes forward and gait unhurried, relaxed. 

When Steve had gotten knocked clean off the roof in their latest tumble with New York’s worst, Tony had made a mad dive to reach him in time, but he hadn’t been fast enough. Steve had fallen ten stories into a dumpster (which he will be leaving out of his mission report for  _ reasons _ ) and broke his femur in the process. He heals fast, but a break like that’ll take a week at least, and in the meantime no one was keen on letting him hobble back to base camp. While Tony was the clear choice to transport Steve he was needed in corralling the (rather embarrassing) minions deployed by their resident bad guy, and Steve had been perfectly willing to either wait for the battle to end or (more likely) to get his feet under him and make the trek back himself.

Until Bucky showed up.

Bucky isn’t technically meant to be here, on official Avenger business; Fury still hasn’t cleared him (which Steve is a little proud of, truth be told, seeing as it means he’s kept Bucky out of SHIELD’s grasp for this long) and he isn’t known to the public as anything other than a random vigilante who likes to steal the Avengers’ spotlight. Not that Bucky cares about how the media perceives him; the only attention he pays the news is when he prints out articles that feature photos of Steve to stick to the fridge. 

(Steve would be more mortified by this, but frankly, it makes Bucky happy to do it and Steve likes how happiness looks on him too much to even think about taking it away from him)

In any case, Bucky took it upon himself to ensure Steve’s return to the quinjet goes as painlessly as possible, which resulted in him swinging a spluttering Steve onto his back without so much as a word of warning and he hasn’t let him down since, despite Steve’s numerous and rather explicit protests. By now Steve’s decided the best course of action is to give in, because the only way he’s getting out of Bucky’s hold is through violence and the last thing he wants is to hurt Bucky. 

So, here they are, ten minutes later and in full view of Steve’s flight-capable companions any time they dart past. Which is happening a lot, Steve’s noticed. So much so that he’s begun to suspect Stark is manufacturing reasons to put Steve and Bucky in his flight path. Clint’s nagging comments aren’t lessening his paranoia anyway, either, and Steve’s already strung out enough just from his embarrassing situation. 

He’s nearly a hundred years old, he doesn’t deserve this bullshit -- especially from his so-called friends.

“Jarvis,” Steve murmurs, and the AI hums in acknowledgement through the comms. Stark thought it prudent to give Jarvis total control over the communication relays for whatever reason and none of the other Avengers had objected, so Steve had stowed his on and went along with it. He’s grateful for it now, in any case. “Me and Buck are gonna go dark for a while. I’ll let you know when we wanna go live again.”

“Of course, Captain Rogers.”

With that, there’s a faint click and then the buzzing chatter of his teammates cuts out, Stark mid-squark of protest. Steve breathes out a silent sigh of relief, dropping his forehead against the back of Bucky’s neck.

“Never thought I’d learn to appreciate silence this much,” he says, tacking on a muted laugh. Growing up in Brooklyn meant Steve never really knew quiet -- there was always the hum of the city around him, shouts and laughter drifting in through open windows in the summer, the shuffle and rattle of the other tenants in his apartment building. The war brought with it its own brand of noise, chittering wildlife and sighing winds, and the rat-tat-tat of gunfire. Silence then was never welcome; silence heralded dangers that lurked into the encroaching dark, silence was what lingered in his ears in the wake of mortar shells. 

Now, though, he thinks he might like the gentle silences that settle between him and Bucky these days, when they’re seated together on the couch but not engaged with one another. Just existing peacefully in each other’s orbits. Bucky’s not usually one for lengthy conversations and Steve, in the aftermath of his emergence from the ice, can’t often muster up the wit and charm necessary for even smalltalk. The quiet wraps around them like a familiar blanket, and more than once Steve has fallen asleep stretched out beside Bucky, his feet tucked into the other man’s lap and his head pillowed against the arm rest. Bucky never seems to mind the intrusion into his personal space and Steve enjoys the liquid warmth that pools in stomach upon waking that way; it works for them, is what he’s saying, and he’s not going to be the one to put an end to their arrangement.

“Hey, Buck,” Steve says eventually, when he knows they’re nearing the quinjet, “I just wanna say, uh, thanks… for gettin’ me outta there. I know I didn’t act all that appreciative” -- Bucky snorts a laugh, which rather eloquently expresses his thoughts on that statement, and which Steve graciously ignores because he’s trying to be  _ nice _ here -- “but I am, honest. You should be out there wrangling up those numbskull villains, but you can back for me and that’s… well, you’re just… you’re a swell guy, ya know? So, thanks.”

God, why is he  _ blushing _ ? Steve’s no stranger to getting flustered around people (attractive, competent women especially) but he’s not normally this worked up when he’s talking to Bucky. Maybe he clocked his head harder than he thought in that fall from the roof. Groaning quietly to himself, Steve presses his face harder into Bucky’s nape, furiously willing his face to cool down as he tightens his grip on Bucky’s shoulders. 

He feels Bucky squeeze his good leg comfortingly.

“You say that like I had anything more important to do.”

Steve blinks, his heart fluttering oddly in his chest. “C’mon, Bucky, don’t kid… I’ll heal alright, you know that, it’s not like I was in any danger of keeling over. You didn’t have to drop everything for me.”  
From the way Bucky tosses his head, Steve suspects he’s rolling his eyes heavenward, seeking divine guidance in the face of Steve’s overwhelming stupidity. Or, at least, that’s the look his Ma used to get all the time while she was mopping up the blood from his broken nose, and he’s seen it a time or two on Bucky these last few weeks, so he’s reasonably sure that’s the look Bucky’s got on right now. 

“Steve,” he chides, tilting his head to look at Steve over his shoulder. Steve doesn’t make it easy for him, ducking his face against Bucky’s neck again, his heart pounding away in his chest with something that’s  _ probably  _ not the remnants of his earlier adrenaline. “ _ Solnyshko _ , you’re hurt,” and that’s it, as if that explains everything.

_ Maybe _ , Steve thinks, a little stupefied, just as they're reaching the jet,  _ maybe it does _ . 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for anyone still willing to read this that I took so, so long to update! Sophomore year of college started and I just... well, I have a creative writing class this semester, and any writing I've done that isn't for academic purposes has gone towards that as of late. Probably a reasonable excuse, but I'm still sorry I left this story hanging for as long as I did. Hopefully the wait won't be quite as bad for the next chapter

Steve takes a while to cotton on, but eventually, a pattern begins to emerge.

If anyone were to ask a member of the Avengers (Steve excluded), none of them would describe Bucky as tactile. Well, unless a person’s definition of tactile extended to causing bodily harm because in that case Stark and Barton would be the first ones to pin the label on the former Soviet assassin. Romanov would perhaps roll her eyes and mutter something rather unflattering under her breath in Russian, and Bruce Banner, in all likelihood, would have declined to comment. 

Steve, though, he’d be lying if he claimed the Winter Soldier remained aloof behind closed doors.

Thinking back on it, he’d probably say it started that night Natasha burgled her way into his home and Bucky responded by dropping unceremoniously into Steve’s lap. Of course, it didn’t register to him then that this might actually be part of a larger problem. Or, well,  _ problem  _ seems too harsh of a word; Bucky hasn’t been hurting anyone, least of all Steve. It’s not until the weeks following Steve’s embarrassing Disney princess moment that the metaphorical fog clears, though. 

Bucky is, for whatever reason, really into manhandling Steve. Like,  _ really  _ into it.

Sometimes it’s simply Bucky guiding Steve out of the way with a hand gripping his shoulder, or maybe he’s dragging Steve up off the couch so they can take a run around the borough. And then there are moments like now:

“Buck,” Steve says, his voice pitched slightly too high, his throat a bit too tight. “Buck, c’mon, this isn’t-- I’m not-- There’s no danger,” he tries, the words edged with a hint of desperation he hopes no one calls him out on later.

Bucky, of course, does nothing beyond curling his fingers harder into the small of Steve’s back where he has him hauled over his metal shoulder as if he were a ragdoll and not a two-hundred-something-pound super soldier with a rather sizeable chip on his shoulder. Steve knows he hasn’t turned his eyes away from the perceived threat, which in this case is Banner, who stands stock still across the room; Steve can’t see him, having been flung head-first over Bucky’s shoulder, but he imagines Bruce has lost even the barest shade of green from his skin by now. His self-control is pretty amazing, Steve has to admit that, though he wishes there hadn’t been a reason to display it today.

In hindsight, Steve really should have explained Bruce’s situation to Bucky prior to their first meeting, and he definitely should have done it before bringing Bucky to the Tower for a much-needed medical evaluation. 

There’s a reason hindsight is twenty-twenty, he supposes, though right now he’d be willing to beg at Stark’s feet (maybe, probably) for the man to have invented time travel already so Steve could go back and undo this mess.

(Later he’ll wonder where that thought came from—somewhere out of left field obviously, but he can’t pinpoint an exact origin point—and why he didn’t automatically apply it to taking him, well,  _ home _ ; he won’t conjure up any satisfactory answers for awhile)

“Bucky,” Steve tries again, soft, putting a hand against Bucky’s tense back. Skin-to-skin contact usually works better at calming Bucky down, but like hell is Steve risking the chance that Bucky’ll feel even more vulnerable around Banner (and, he’ll admit it to himself, he doesn’t want Stark walking in on anything he might feel compelled to heckle Steve for more than he already does). “Bruce wouldn’t hurt me. Us. He’s a good guy, the best...” Bucky’s grip tightens fractionally and Steve, panicking, blurts out, “Not as good as you, obviously! But a good guy! We like him, I promise, and he’s not gonna turn green on us, right, Bruce?”

Steve can’t see, but he’s reasonably sure that Bruce nods along with him, confirming for Bucky that no Hulking-out of any kind is on the agenda for this afternoon. They had a close call when Bruce went to examine the scarred skin radiating out from Bucky’s arm, but the moment Bruce’s skin changed tint Bucky had Steve over one shoulder and was backed into a defensible corner of the room within seconds. Steve would be impressed with his maneuverability and reflexes if he weren’t in a position of abject mortification. 

“Bucky” — Bucky makes a low, rumbling noise and Bruce blessedly backtracks — “ _ James _ , like Captain Rogers said, I don’t have any intention to hurt either one of you. And, uh, the Other Guy… he’s not coming out to play any time soon. I’m calm right now, it’s just Bruce here. You can let Captain Rogers down—if you want to,” Bruce adds hurriedly, which Steve could’ve done without.  _ Who’s side are you on, Banner?  _ he thinks (rather petulantly, but Steve’s a master at compartmentalization and he tucks that thought neatly into an unused corner where it won’t bother him in the slightest). 

It does seem to appease Bucky, at least a little, because, after another tension-filled minute, he loosens his hold on Steve and sets him down on his feet. Bucky still moves in between Steve and Bruce, his body a natural shield against whatever the scientist might have squirreled away, but that’s progress in Steve’s eyes. Steve, with a grateful nod at Bruce across the lab, places both of his hands on Bucky’s shoulders, squeezing gently, wanting him to feel grounded and secure in the knowledge that he’s not alone and neither of them is in any real danger. Bucky takes in a shuddering breath, releases it a moment later, and though it takes him a second Steve realizes that Bucky’s matched his breathing to Steve’s. Which he probably could have done based on his enhanced hearing alone, but he’s also backed up until his back is pressed into Steve’s chest; Steve can’t say he minds, especially not when it helps Bucky settle back into his own skin like this.

“Think we’ll do this another day, Dr. Banner,” Steve says eventually, slinging a careful arm around Bucky’s neck, catching his hand on Bucky’s flesh shoulder and holding on tight. Bucky slumps against him, his body lax and heavy without the tautness of battle-ready muscles to prop it up. 

“Of course,” Banner agrees. “Any time, really. Just… maybe double-check that Tony won’t be in. He’ll want to look at James’ arm eventually, but… Tony’s a lot to take in all at once.”

“Right.” Steve nods, releasing a weary sigh he half-buries into the back of Bucky’s neck. God, they’re lucky Tony hadn’t been here for this. No doubt he would have exasperated the situation, maybe brought in one of his many overkill suits to subdue Bucky before Steve or Bruce could snap him out of it. He’s made it clear to Steve—through unwanted calls and texts that Steve does his best to ignore—that he doesn’t approve of Bucky staying with Steve when his apartment doesn’t have anything in the way of  _ respectable  _ surveillance. Tony’s read Bucky’s file, and Steve had watched him do it, watched that bright spark of curiosity in Tony’s eyes dim to almost nothing, replaced with dread and the faintest hint of nausea. And then—then Tony’d snapped the folder shut abruptly, his face a blank mask that Steve couldn’t read a word of. Steve, who’d memorized the contents of that folder on his first read-through, knew that Tony had stopped somewhere in the section that detailed Bucky’s mission history. Steve hadn’t asked then what had gotten to Tony, and frankly, he didn’t want to know. Call him a coward for it, but Steve wasn’t as reckless as everyone made him out to be—he knew when to let sleeping dogs lie.

He just hoped Tony didn’t choose to bare his teeth at Bucky later on; there was no telling how that would end for anyone, Steve included. 

“C’mon, Buck,” Steve murmurs, using his grip on Bucky to turn him towards the elevator. “Let’s go home. It’s your turn to pick something from Netflix.”

As far as Steve could tell, there was no rhyme or reason to Bucky’s selections—he went from classics (ha) to horror to sitcoms, always choosing something different and seemingly at random. Steve isn’t in any position to judge him, anyway, but he sort of appreciates Bucky’s sampling of various genres; it reminds Steve that he isn’t the only one playing catch-up this century. And really, so long as Bucky is happy with whatever they watch; Steve cares more about that than his own personal taste in films.

He hears Banner call out a goodbye to them, which Steve returns over his shoulder just before the elevator doors  _ whoosh  _ closed behind him. He doesn’t turn away from Bucky, just shifts to keep an arm around his shoulders and pull him flush against his side. Steve knows what this would look like to a casual observer, knows he’s probably crossing lines with Bucky that Bucky doesn’t even think to define; but, it’s a new century, and Steve’s not going to get arrested for holding Bucky like this. More importantly, Bucky is comfortable tucked into him like this, and more often than not this is the position he favors when they’re together on Steve’s couch; Steve would do this and so much more to make Bucky as comfortable as he can be.

And that’s  _ another  _ thought he slams into a drawer, unwilling to examine it too closely right now. He’ll get there, he will—just, now isn’t the right time.

That begs the question of when it  _ will  _ be the right time, but… 

Steve’s working on it.

For now, it’s enough to lean back against the mirrored wall of the elevator, Bucky safe and close next to him, their breathing synced and even. It’s more than enough. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I... genuinely don't know how I feel about this chapter. I don't think I've made either of these two dorks out of character for the canon I've established in my stories, but this chapter still feels rather off to me. I think it's cute, but also maybe like it doesn't make as much sense as I wanted it to. Also like it's... crack-y. Granted, this series is definitely fluffy crack on some level, but still. I'll blame it on the fact that Steve's sick in it and therefore a little more honest than he would be normally (or I'll blame it on my own sleep deprivation, whichever is the most convenient. Ugh. Feel free to let me know if anyone takes issue with this chapter, I might go back later and try to edit it.
> 
> Oh! And since this story doesn't follow a concrete plot, I was wondering if anyone had thoughts on other ways Bucky could manhandle Steve. I've got some ideas myself but it's always nice to have more input!

Steve is dying.

No, not from any grievous wound; he’s not bleeding out on the asphalt, innards gushing out of him, eyes going glassy and distant. There’d been a fight, yes, one the Avengers cleaned up in record time, but one of the minions (lackeys? Steve doesn’t know if there’s a difference he should be acknowledging) managed to get a shot off at Steve, which more or less surprised everyone; Bucky almost always inserts himself between Steve and high-level threats. But, in fairness, this was a  _ lackey _ (or whatever terminology best suited the kid), and anyway, it hadn’t been a normal gun he was firing. Steve, braced for a bullet to the chest, instead got a face-full of vividly colored gas that sent him into a coughing fit, nearly doubled over and entirely too vulnerable for anyone’s liking. That was when Bucky dropped in like an avenging angel and, well, made sure that the lackey wasn’t a threat to anyone else.

With the battle already winding down, no one had any qualms about Bucky rushing Steve back to the Tower, and from there medical had determined that the gas wasn’t designed to kill, and that even if it had been they likely hadn’t accounted for Steve’s super-soldier healing factor. Nothing’s fatal, then, and ultimately, his serum will work the gas out of his system within a matter of hours, a day at the most. Everything is going to be fine.

That doesn’t mean that Steve isn’t currently  _ dying _ .

He’s sick. With the super-soldier version of the flu, if he had to guess, as he hadn’t thought he could  _ get  _ sick with his brand spankin’ new body and its equally revamped immune system. But he hasn’t felt this bad since ‘42, that last winter he spent as his old self before he signed himself over to the United States military, when he was catching every cold that took a turn around his neighborhood and even a few from the next borough over. His whole body aches, he’s running a fever that’d probably kill anything that isn’t genetically enhanced (which may or may not be causing him to hallucinate some downright  _ strange  _ things), and he’s  _ sniffling _ . 

All. The goddamn. Time. 

Needless to say, he’s not handling it well.

Steve never considered himself one to complain unnecessarily before (generally—and he’s  _ knows  _ he’s playing into the stereotypes with this—he only speaks out over moral injustices and the like), but it seems reverting back to his pre-serum state of being, i.e. constantly bedridden, has knocked him down a peg and taken some of his pain tolerance in the process, because he’s snapped at Stark no less than three times in the past couple hours (though to be fair Tony had at least one of those instances coming, as he hadn’t taken the hint that Steve just wanted to be left  _ alone _ , goddammit) and he’s mostly spent the day curled up beneath the covers in his too-soft bed in the room Tony set up for him at the Tower, moaning pitifully to himself.

At least Bucky doesn’t seem to mind his pathetic tendencies today.

In fact, Bucky, once he’d determined that Steve wasn’t in any kind of life-threatening danger, has seemed suspiciously content with the situation. He’d almost cracked a smile despite Stark being within twenty feet of him earlier, mostly in response to Steve sneezing five times in a row and nearly upending a bowl of soup all over his lap as a result; rather than react to Stark’s pestering, he’d snatched the bowl from Steve’s uncooperative fingers and plopped himself down on the bed beside Steve, where he’d then proceeded to  _ spoon-feed  _ Steve the rest of his lunch. Steve had put up his token protest, of course he had, but not even Stark’s sputtering laughter could make him deny Bucky’s hangdog expression, complete with liquid puppy eyes and a jutting lower lip that looked suspiciously like a pout. 

Steve, in the wake of this, has realized some things about himself that make him feel particularly warm and fuzzy in his chest, and somewhat uncomfortable below the belt, given his audience. 

At the moment, he’s not feeling much of anything besides the clamminess of his own skin and the wheeze of his breathing. He’s got his face mushed into the cool side of his pillow, cocooned in about half a dozen blankets that Bucky scrounged up from God-knows-where, and somewhere in the apartment the radio is playing something soft and lulling. He can’t hear Bucky (can’t hear much of anything over the sound of his frankly terrifying mouth-breathing), but he’s not surprised, really; Bucky has a knack for ghosting along on silent feet, and the amount of times he’s got the jump on Steve is a little embarrassing; or, it would be if Bucky didn’t temper of his sneaking around with surprise-hugs, where he all but drapes himself over Steve’s back and clings there like a limpet for minutes on end. Sometimes, because he really,  _ really  _ likes the manhandling still, Bucky’ll up the ante by lifting Steve clear off his feet and crushing him to his chest. It usually only happens when Steve’s been gone from their apartment for more than an hour or two, so Steve doesn’t mind it too much.

(Who’s he kidding? He loves it, loves that Bucky  _ can  _ pick him up, even if his pride won’t let him admit it out loud)

Still, surprised or not, Steve’s in a not-altogether stable mindset right now, and in said mindset Bucky’s absence is slightly less than unacceptable. He whines a little to himself, which he’d categorically deny to anyone who called him out on it, and rolls over onto his other side, kicking out at his nest of blankets to free his legs, then flailing minutely to do the same for his arms. Once he’s ninety percent untangled, he swings himself upright, planting his sock-clad feet on the floor, and leverages himself off the bed. Or, well, he  _ tries  _ to; the first attempt has him letting out a startled noise as his knees protest the change in altitude and deposit him gracelessly back onto the mattress. Grumbling to himself about the unfairness of gravity and the universe, he gathers a thinner blanket around his shoulders and tries again, this time succeeding in remaining standing. He lets himself break out a tiny, prideful smile, before ruthlessly smoothing out the expression. No time for self congratulations; he’s got a mission to finish.

Navigating himself out of the room is a simpler task to accomplish than fighting his stupid body, and he shuffles down the hall and into the living room with few complications. He spots the source of the music immediately (his StarkPhone, hooked up to the speaker system that Stark has been trying to pawn off on Steve for his actually apartment for months now, with one of his Spotify playlists queued up), and feels his lips quirk up into another involuntary smile. Bucky’s great, he’s just… he’s just  _ swell _ , Steve’s so lucky to know him.

Speaking of Bucky, Steve finds him in the kitchen, leaning his weight against the granite countertop of the island, a StarkPad in his hands that he appears to be intently focused on. That doesn’t stop him from making an unhappy rumble of a noise the second Steve’s slip-sliding feet cross the threshold into the room, like he heard Steve coming a mile off and was just waiting for the perfect moment to make his dissatisfaction known. Honestly, knowing Bucky as he does, Steve can say with certainty that that’s exactly what Bucky’s thought process was: give the illusion that Steve’s approach was any semblance of stealthy, and completely shatter that illusion with such precise timing that Steve knows the incredible depths of his displeasure at Steve being out of bed.

Because that’s what this about, judging by the disapproving scowl Bucky sends him as he lifts his gaze from the StarkPad and flicks it over Steve’s very much still sickly form. Steve sniffles self-righteously, or as self-righteous as he can be when he’s got snot dripping over his upper lip and his cheeks are blotchy with fever.

“Solnyshko,” he murmurs, his voice low and stern. Steve frowns, unmoved; the endearment hasn’t tripped him up in weeks, thank you very much. “What are you doing out of bed?”

“What are  _ you  _ doing?” Steve replies,  _ not at all petulantly _ . He’s a grown man, a damn veteran, he’s more than capable of asking questions without adopting the whiny pitch of an eight-year-old who’s been caught staying up past his bedtime. At least, that’s what he tells himself when Bucky only raises a judgemental brow, his mouth thinned into something halfway between amusement and impatience. 

Bucky waves the StarkPad around. “Banner sent over some things he thought might be useful regarding your current situation.”

Steve blinks slowly, unsure which part of that sentence to tackle first. “You’re… on speaking terms with Banner?”

“No, but you are,” Bucky says, flashing a grin. “Technically these are for your eyes only, solnyshko, but you were otherwise occupied,” he adds meaningfully.

Right. Must’ve been when Steve was heaving his guts into the (kind of amazingly) streamlined toilet a few hours ago. Steve flushes at the memory of Bucky rubbing soothing circles into his back, his mouth pressed to Steve’s ear as he murmured soft things in Russian; Steve, too dazed to translate in his head, had simply been grateful for the lilting cadence of Bucky’s voice, distracting him from the general unpleasantness of everything else. Despite his embarrassment, there’s a spark of something akin to pride in his chest, as well, because Bucky  _ talking  _ more recently, in Russian and English and about five other languages, but he’s talking and Steve thinks that’s fantastic.  

“Okay,” Steve says, shrugging. He’s not concerned about Bucky being in the know about the logistics of the serum; far as he can tell Bucky’s got a bastardized version of it himself, and he’s never shown even the most miniscule of signs that he intends Steve any sort of harm. Bucky’s probably the  _ best  _ person to understand what makes Steve Captain America (aside from maybe Banner), if he’s honest with himself, and he really is trying to do the honesty thing these days. It’s probably healthier that way, probably’ll keep him saner. “Doesn’t explain why you’re all the way out here…” 

_ That  _ gets Bucky straightening up, the StarkPad slipping a little in his slackening grip. Steve can’t help but frown again, confused by Bucky’s stunned reaction. Bucky hardly needs an invitation to insert himself into Steve’s personal space, never has; Steve could have protested  _ a lot  _ more in those early days if he’d really had a problem with Bucky’s affection, and he was sure Bucky knew that. Perhaps he’s wary of catching whatever Steve has? That’d make sense, Steve certainly wouldn’t want to be around himself if he were in Bucky’s position, especially given that they’ve no idea whether or not he’s contagious, or if Bucky’s susceptible to illnesses as he is. 

(That’s another lie: If their roles were reversed he’d most likely be glued to Bucky’s side. Not that he’d fault Bucky for wanting to avoid Steve’s germs, that’s… a more reasonable reaction than anything Steve could come up with, probably)

He’s just opened his mouth to retract his earlier statement when Bucky all but barrels into him, the StarkPad forgotten on the counter. He wheezes out a breathless laugh, wrapping his arms tight around Bucky’s neck as Bucky more or less carries him from the room, in a way that might be disturbingly like a barbarian hauling off his future bride, but Steve’s just fever-addled enough that he finds it charming rather than worrying. Hell, he’d probably find it charming even if he were completely healthy; there’s not much Bucky can do to get on Steve’s bad side, and  _ wow _ , he should have gotten his head on straight a lot sooner, huh?

“You should be sleeping,” Bucky mutters. “Banner’s notes say sleep’s what your body needs the most when it’s healing.”

Steve absently swats at Bucky’s back, and he can tell, vaguely, that whatever coherency he’d mustered up for his conversation before is slipping, because he just smiles like a goddamn dope and says, “I  _ was  _ sleeping, jerk. But I woke up and you were gone. Needed to find you, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Bucky repeats, kind of faintly, his fingers pressing deeper into where he’s got a grip on Steve’s sides and back. 

Steve nods like this was a question, and also like Bucky can see him. “Got used to having you in my bed,” he says, and later he’ll recall this moment and practically burst into flames with how  _ forward  _ he’d been, good Christ, but for now it just seems like the right thing to say. And it must be, because it’s only a few more seconds until Bucky’s dumping both of them onto the bed and rolling them back into the blanket cocoon.

Steve’s eyes are already closing before they’re completely settled. A soft sigh slips out as he moves closer to the line of heat Bucky makes against his front. He’s sick, he’s dying, but Bucky’s here, and that makes everything more than a little bit better. He spares half a thought to wish that he’d Bucky  _ before _ , before the serum, before the ice, but then he shakes it off and reminds himself, in that ironclad way that delusional people tend to have, that Bucky’s here  _ now _ , and that’s all that matters. 

“I’m here, solnyshko,” Bucky says, soft, his lips moving against Steve’s hair, and okay, maybe Steve said some of that out loud, great. “I’ve got you, I’m here.”

Steve falls asleep smiling, thinking that being sick isn’t all that bad after all. 


	4. Chapter 4

Waking up, it turns out, is a different story entirely.

The sickness has passed, thank the Lord, and Steve relishes in being able to draw in a full, steady breath; his lungs fill and release on command, obviously running at full capacity for the first time in twenty-four hours, and  _ okay _ , he is never taking the serum for granted again. At least in this regard; he’s sure he’ll be taking on challenges two times even his science-enhanced size in the coming days, willfully ignorant of his own limits. 

He’s equally sure that Bucky would be there, right beside him, tipping the scales back in Steve’s favor even as he chided Steve for his recklessness.

_ Ah.  _ Right. Bucky.

Steve can’t help but squirm a little as several things become apparent to him at once: one, he’s in his bed, no longer swathed in an army of blankets but comfortably toasty just the same; two, there’s a weight slung over his waist and a line of heat along his back; three, his head is  _ definitely  _ lying on something significantly more muscular than his pillow. The only reasonable conclusion? Bucky’s spooning him. 

Steve’s mind conjures an inhuman noise at that realization, something akin to the buzz of static mixed with the sound of an animal choking on a bone. There’s a siren somewhere in there, too, pulsating at irregular intervals and making Steve clench his teeth in… something. Irritation, surprise, hell maybe he’s just doing it because the rest of his body has gone painfully rigid, muscles tight and strained where seconds before they’d been soft and pliant, flushed with warmth.  _ That’s no good _ , he thinks wildly,  _ I might wake Bucky.  _

How Steve’s abrupt, overloud internal turmoil hasn’t woken Bucky already he’ll never know, but he’s shamelessly grateful about it. So, to continue that trend, he consciously unclenches, well, everything. Or just about everything, in any case, starting from his aching jaw all the way down to his toes.

He’s being spooned. By Bucky. Nothing to have a heart attack over, even if his heart is actually pounding right out of his rib cage at the moment, occasionally making daring leaps into his throat. Steve swallows hard, squeezing his eyes shut. This is fine, he tells himself firmly because he apparently has to convince  _ himself  _ that that’s the truth; Bucky, were he awake and aware, wouldn’t find a damn thing wrong with the situation. Because there’s nothing wrong with it! Steve is  _ happy _ about this development, goddammit! He should be beaming right now, not whatever crazed grimace has wormed its way across his face; there’s the pull in his brows and the stretch of his lips and cheeks, and he is being an absolute  _ dumbass  _ about this.

Bucky isn’t shy about the affection he offers Steve, that’s not the problem. The problem is that Steve is worried that Stark may have been right when, weeks ago, he’s cornered Steve in a rare moment of solitude and informed him that the Soldier (and he was never  _ Bucky _ to Stark, though Bucky seemed liked he approved of that, seeing as he only ever referred to Stark as  _ Codename: Iron Man  _ in return) had probably imprinted on him like an incredibly deadly duckling. Admittedly that had been before Bucky was very verbal, when he’d stuck almost entirely to Russian and only spoke in broken sentences eighty-percent of the time, but the thought that all of this, the casual touches, the affectionate nicknames, the  _ comfort _ , might be a result of Bucky latching onto the first kind face he came across… 

It doesn’t upset Steve, exactly; if him being kind to Bucky is what helped him find a crack in his conditioning, then he’s even more eternally grateful to his ma for raising him by her strict moral code. But if that’s  _ all  _ this is? Well, Steve will… he’ll carry on as they have up until now, obviously he’s not going to leave Bucky in the lurch like that, but he can admit to himself, in this quiet, peaceful moment, that the disappoint won’t be a fleeting thing, especially after it’s taken him so long to put the pieces together himself.

Almost like he’s attuned to Steve’s spiraling thoughts, Bucky choices that moment to breathe out a sigh against the crook of Steve’s neck, his metal arm tightening across Steve’s stomach, knees pushing that little bit more into the backs of Steve’s. He murmurs something that Steve can’t quite make out, muffled as it is against his skin, then his lifts his head just enough to settle his chin on Steve’s shoulder, freeing up his mouth.

“Better?” he rasps, sending a ripple of delightful shivers down Steve’s spine. Misinterpreting the reaction, Bucky flails his hand around until it closes around a discarded blanket and draws it up over Steve. He pats Steve’s side as if to confirm he’s properly covered now, then slings his arm back around Steve’s torso.

“I, uh, I’m… yeah, Buck, I’m better,” Steve says after a hopefully not too awkward pause (in which he nearly swallowed his fuckin’ tongue, get it together, Rogers!). There’s a helpless smile tugging at his mouth as he adds, “All thanks to you, pal. You did real good takin’ care o’ me.”

A rumble in Bucky’s chest vibrates against Steve’s back and he thinks there’s a not insignificant chance that all this sleep-warm contact might actually succeed where Nazis and aliens have previously failed and just kill him dead, once and for all. Dramatic, sure, but  _ Steve  _ tends to be dramatic, and with sources like his ma and Peggy Carter backing up that claim, even he won’t try to refute it. 

“The serum did most of the work,” Bucky says, huffing a laugh that does funny things to Steve’s stomach, “but it’s not as though I didn’t enjoy it. Taking care of you, that is.”

Steve’s cheeks flood with heat. “Really?” His voice doesn’t crack, it  _ doesn’t _ . “Heard from more’n a few people that I can, uh, be something of a handful, ‘specially when I’m sick.”

“Nothing I can’t handle,” Bucky replies flippantly. His hair’s tickling Steve’s chin, which should not feel as good as it does. 

“Huh.”

Bucky snorts softly. “Does that surprise you, solnyshko?”

And, well, it doesn’t, but now seems as good a time as any for Steve to impulsively ask a question that’s been plaguing him for weeks.

“Buck, why me?”

Bucky makes a questioning sound low in his throat, puzzled by the question. Or the context of it, anyway.

“When we… first met,” Steve says, careful because he still doesn’t know how much of their (brief) shared past Bucky remembers if any of it. He’s never shown any indication that he  _ knows  _ Steve beyond maybe finding him vaguely familiar, but then again… “What made you come with me? You had a… a mission, then, right?”

Bucky’s response comes surprisingly quick, which is a balm to Steve’s frenetic nerves. “Steve Rogers was safe,” he says, all hushed now, the words spoken directly into Steve’s skin. “He meant the asset— _ I  _ would be safe. And he meant warmth. The mission did not matter more than Steve Rogers did.”

Steve can hardly breathe, which is ironic given the euphoria he’d experienced upon waking up. That’s—Bucky must remember  _ something  _ if that’s what he associates Steve with. And, god, that’s insane, isn’t it? That through seventy-odd years of brainwashing and torture, Bucky still made that connection when he heard Steve’s name, when they found each other again? Their initial meeting hadn’t been… to say it hadn’t been ideal would be an understatement, but Steve never knew he’d had that sort of impact on Barnes. It’s naive, he thinks now, to have thought that way, maybe too modest; Bucky may well have died on that table if Steve hadn’t shown up when he did. Or (even more heartbreaking) he may have ended up as the Winter Soldier that much earlier. The experience was obviously a positive one for Barnes, overwhelmingly so if the echoes of it survived decades of abuse and manipulation.

Steve still couldn’t quite grasp the idea that he  _ meant  _ that much to someone. His actions, at least, had meant that much.

“Steve Rogers was an inspiration,” Bucky says, gently coaxing Steve back to their conversation, although he feels himself flushing again, partly because that’s a phrase he’s heard all too often this century, partly because Bucky doesn’t say it like he’s reciting it from a textbook. “Barnes…” Steve perks up at that because from what he remembers that’s how Bucky’s old unit referred to him. Barnes, not Bucky, at least not when they were all in public. “No,  _ I  _ said that a lot, while the war was going on. Used it as an excuse, I think.”

“...an excuse for what?”

Bucky huffs again, says something in Russian that Steve roughly translates as  _ don’t be stupid, it doesn’t suit you _ , and well, didn’t that just light Steve up from the inside out? 

But Steve doesn’t want to make this moment any heavier than it is. There’ll be time for sorting out feelings and the like later, he’s sure. Now, now he’s content to exist in the here and now, let himself smile as wide as he wants to. Whatever this is, they’re in it together. That’s more than enough to satisfy Steve.

On that note, he decides the day’s waited long enough for him and makes to roll off the bed. He can get breakfast started, make sure Bucky gets his coffee, catch up on what he missed with the other Avengers.

That plan gets immediately derailed when Bucky tightens his grip and all but drags him back into bed, deliberately ignoring Steve’s stuttering protests.

“You’re still recovering, solnyshko,” he says, locking eyes with Steve, his expression equal parts fierce and mischievous. “The world will still be there to bother you in another few hours.”

And it’s not like Steve can argue with logic like that. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait between chapters, and for this one being a little on the short side, but I hope you guys enjoy it nonetheless. I'm also still looking for ideas for the next chapter if anyone has suggestions. Maybe something involving Thor, seeing as he hasn't shown up at all in this despite being tagged... Oh, well, I'll get around to it. And then these two idiots can finally make some long-awaited confessions, huh?


	5. Chapter 5

“C’mon, Rogers,” Clint cajoles, even as Natasha flips him to the ground, thighs locked loosely around his neck. Given it’s only one of their mandatory training sessions she’s going easy on most of them (with the exception of Tony, who quickly learned his lesson after he made the mistake of catcalling Nat when she’d walked in wearing her skin-tight workout clothes, and it wasn’t much later that he ran off to join Bruce in the upstairs lounge). “You gotta spill the beans, or whatever.” Natasha must squeeze because Clint lets out a truly unsettling wheeze before gasping, “Give us all the dirty deets!”

Steve frowns to himself, mopping up the sweat from his brow and giving himself a moment to decide whether or not he should be offended on Bucky’s behalf. Bucky’s not here, due in part to the fact that he’s still not an official Avenger and therefore has no obligation to make sure his skills are up to snuff, but mostly because he took one look at the bed in Steve’s designated quarters and decided the block out the afternoon for napping purposes. It was a good decision, one Steve wholeheartedly supported, but he does wonder whether anyone would have the balls (metaphorical or otherwise) to goad Steve into disclosing the nature of their relationship if Bucky were here in the flesh. He certainly isn’t here to give his own take on things, and Steve’s hardly comfortable talking about his own love life, let alone that of his partner’s.

Or, well, he wouldn’t be if he and Bucky  _ were  _ partners. Officially.

Steve’s beginning to think Natasha’s got the right idea in labeling him as a complete and utter idiot. At least when it comes to relationships.

“Barton,” he sighs, but that’s as far as he gets before Thor claps a massive hand on his shoulder with far too much enthusiasm, jarring the rest of the sentence of Steve’s head in the process.

“You’ve started the process of courting our dear Bucky?” he asks, shaking Steve by the shoulder as he laughs. “Why, Captain, you should have said something! The Lady Darcy has taught me much about Midgardian romance, I could have shared this knowledge with you.”

Steve briefly thinks about questioning why  _ Darcy’s  _ the one teaching Thor modern-day romancing tactics when he’s supposedly dating  _ Dr. Foster _ , but the explanation won’t be worth the effort, and frankly, despite what everyone and their mother has to say on the matter, Steve doesn’t need help  _ courting _ . He won’t deny that he’s inexperienced, because apparently every fourth grader in America knows that Steve had exactly zero luck women prior to the serum, or really, prior to meeting Peggy Carter. He’d been sickly and pricklier than a damn porcupine when he was younger, and women hadn’t wanted anything to do with him, and even when he’d had Peggy he hadn’t had to do much beyond muster up the courage to  _ talk  _ to her. 

But as far as he’s concerned, experience doesn’t mean shit when it comes to what he has with Bucky.

“Thanks, Thor,” he says, because it’s nice of him to offer even if Steve has no plans on taking him up on it, “but I’m good. We’re good. We’re taking things slow, is all. And Barton, can you  _ try  _ to keep things appropriate?”

“Aw, Cap, I’m not asking about the size of his— _ Shit! _ ”

A smirk pulls at Steve’s mouth. “Thanks, Nat.”

“I’m not doing it for you, Rogers. Someone around here has to preserve Barnes’ modesty since you’re doing such a shit job of it.”

“Hey!” 

Natasha smiles slyly as she smoothly detaches herself from Clint, rolling over onto her stomach and kicking her feet up, chin propped up on her palm. “There’s footage of you two spooning on the common room couch while Barnes is very much  _ on display _ ,” she reminds him, clearly enjoying the flush of color it brings to his, well, everything.

“You try herding Buck into a pair of pants when he doesn’t want ‘em,” Steve mutters mutinously. And it’s the goddamn truth. Bucky may not put his more unsavory skills to use around Steve all that often, but the guy’s a menace when it comes to getting him properly clothed in public spaces. He doesn’t quite grasp the importance of social etiquette, and Steve is not at all the best guy to teach him; it doesn’t help that Steve’s a pushover where Bucky is concerned, and that Bucky knows it just as well as Steve does. “I think the more pressing concern here is that our privacy isn’t being respected.”

“Stark monitors all the public spaces in the Tower, Rogers, you know that. You should’ve taken your naked cuddling to the bedroom if you wanted it kept  _ private _ .”

“No one was naked!” Bucky had been wearing underwear at the time, Steve hadn’t gotten that much of a concession from him at least. 

“Details, details.”

Steve needs better teammates. He has no clue on how he’d go about obtaining them; maybe take out an ad in the papers, rent out a billboard. Hell, he’d be willing to hire a skywriter if it meant he’d have some colleagues who don’t take the piss out of him every chance they get. He had enough of that with Dugan and the others. 

Oh, God, he doesn’t even want to imagine what shit he’d have to endure if the Commandos were around to see him practically mooning over Bucky at all hours of the day. 

Instead of engaging further (which is undoubtedly what Natasha wants from him), he swings his attention to Thor, rolling his shoulders back. He could use a good sparring session with the Asgardian. Natasha’s a menace on the mat but even with her training she can’t match his endurance, or his raw strength. Thor, on the other hand, not only matches Steve but nearly trumps him in every category, and it’s been a long time since Steve felt like he could put his all into a fight (even a mock one like those he gets into with his teammates) so he’s taken to looking forward to Thor’s sporadic visits to the Tower, taking his stress-relief where he can get it. 

“Up for a match?” he asks, raising his hands in an approximation of a boxer’s stance, mouth quirked into the beginnings of a smirk. 

“Of course, Captain!” Thor booms. “Our brawls are always enjoyable affairs.”

“ _ Affairs _ ,” Clint wheezes from the sidelines, where’s he’s probably nursing his wounds, “no one tell Bucky that Rogers here is stepping out on him!”

There’s a pause, then a sheepish yelp from Clint that’s immediately followed by a slew of curses that has Steve fighting back a smirk. Whatever she says, he knows Natasha is doing this for him, too, if only because she’s more or less privy to the bullshit Steve’s gone through internally in regards to Bucky. He didn’t think he’d been that transparent, but he can’t deny it was almost comforting when she’d dropped down next to him in the communal lounge one day and told him, point blank, that Bucky wouldn’t treat him with the care he did if he figured Steve was anything like his previous handlers. He’s still in the dark on her connection to Bucky (though he’s made himself sick sifting through the possibilities, knowing what he does about both of their pasts) but he trusts her implicitly on this. He walks a little taller these days because of that confirmation, without the knot in his stomach or the black spot on his heart.

Now all that’s left is to  _ do something about it _ .

But first, Thor.

They’ve done this often enough that it’s routine, the both of them circling each other, watching for chinks in armor or telegraphed movements. Thor’s a heavy hitter, and stupidly, Steve had initially assumed that meant he lacked finesse in his fighting; he’d paid the price for that during their first session, when even his enhanced reflexes weren’t enough to avoid Thor damn near  _ gracefully  _ throwing him into the mat. Thor’s quick on his feet despite his size (a little like Steve, or so Natasha says), and the style in which he fights is entirely outside the realm of anything Steve’s ever encountered. Which seems obvious in retrospect, given Thor’s status as a genuine alien. Now Steve knows better than to underestimate Thor, so when Thor launches himself forward Steve sees the feint for what it is, and counters accordingly.

Natasha and Clint are alternately cheering and jeering from the sidelines, and faintly Steve wonders how long it’ll take them to place bets, if they haven’t already. He’d swear they both have serious gambling addictions (and he’ll be the first to say that all of the Avengers probably have addictive personalities in some way or another) but he’s also never seen them lose to anyone but each other, so. He figures there’s no real harm in it. Although he’s not all that fond of the bet Clint started about whether or not Steve is still a virgin. 

(Joke’s on Clint, though, because Steve got his revenge months ago, swapping out all of Clint’s specialized arrows—double-checking that he’d nabbed all the boomerang arrows that Clint had practically cooed over when Tony unveiled them not long after New York—for plastic ones from various children’s toys from the Dollar Store. Clint hadn’t even noticed the change until he’d gone to the shooting range with Natasha, and to this day she hasn’t let him live down the embarrassment of having shot one arrow only for it to snap in half from the tension of the bowstring, splattering glitter every which way and absolutely drenching Clint

He still doesn’t know it was Steve, either, which gives Steve the giddiest feeling whenever he thinks about it)

It’s not a long fight (it never is, though Steve doesn’t care; this is still miles above what he gets from sparring with Tony) and within minutes Steve’s flat on his back, the air driven from his chest on impact, the shock reverberating through his  _ bones _ . Arms pinned by Thor’s calloused hands, flushed with adrenaline and dripping sweat, Steve just grins, emphatically happy, at Thor above him, who’s sporting a matching smile of his own, obscured a little by his tangle of blond hair but no less intense for it. Steve’s sore already, he’ll be feeling this match for the next few hours at least, but he’s  _ excited _ and satisfied in a way he hardly ever experiences these days, and he has Thor to thank for that. There aren’t words for it honestly, though he suspects Thor understands him all the same; some kinship of warriors that would undoubtedly fly right over Steve’s head (except for how it wouldn’t, because he had that,  _ he had it _ , with his men, Dugan and the others, and there are days where he misses their company so fiercely it’s a physical ache in his chest, a band around his lungs, his heart, squeezing tighter as the memories press against his mind, demanding they be seen, heard,  _ remembered _ —)

“I see you have been practicing without your shield, Captain,” Thor says, and there’s a knowing glint to his smile, a quirk to his brows that tells Steve Thor’s seen more than he’s saying. Gratitude rushes through Steve, as potent as the endorphins still bubbling through his veins, and he lets his mouth pulls back into a half-smile from where it had sunken deep into the frown lines he tries not to recognize in the mirror. “Your improvement is commendable, truly. You’d fit in well with the warriors of Asgard.”

A laugh punches out of Steve, and he doesn’t even bother trying to play it off, he just leans into it, shaking his head as he gently knocks away Thor’s grip. “Hardly,” he huffs. “No need to spare my feelings, Thor, I know your guys have gotta be ten times as good as me, if they’re anything like you. I have been practicing, though, can’t always rely on the shield when half the time I’m tossing it like a damn frisbee.”

“You’re too modest, friend, on Asgard we— “

This would be when a Bucky-shaped blue tackles Thor off Steve, and the room goes utterly silent save for the choked gasp that Clint releases.

It takes a full ten seconds for Steve’s brain to reboot, but then he’s scrambling to his feet and prying Bucky off Thor, or trying to,  _ fuck’s sake he’s like a fuckin’ monkey with that grip _ , cinching his arms tight around Bucky’s waist to hold him as still as possible and murmuring soothing nonsense into Bucky’s ear, desperate to break through whatever conditioning has Bucky in this state, wild and ferocious and— 

Steve’s Russian has been getting better lately, what with the crash course Bucky’s been putting him through after Steve reaffirmed his desire to understand Bucky at all times, so the long, profanity-laden stream of words coming from Bucky’s snarling mouth? Steve gets the gist. And, uh, wow. Steve’s an idiot. A total fuckin’ moron, really, because this all could’ve been avoided weeks ago if he’d grown a pair of  _ balls _ .

“Buck,” he breathes, his hold slackening even as he watches Clint and Natasha pull Thor to his feet in his periphery. The change in tone works to get Bucky’s attention, and his goes quiet as he twitches in Steve’s arms, head canting as evidence that he’s listening now. “Bucky, shit, Thor and me… we’re not like that, I swear. We were  _ sparring _ , buddy, I told you that’s what I had planned today. What you walked in on… ain’t nothing for you to worry about, okay? Nothing at all. You’re…”

Steve swallows, hard. He’s aware of the prying eyes and too-keen ears in this room and he wants them to have no part in this. This, whatever it is, is his and Bucky’s, and theirs alone; no one else gets to intrude on something that Steve should’ve clarified way too long ago now. Shifting his hands to clasp loosely at Bucky’s waist, he rocks forward, leaning his forehead against the back of Bucky’s neck; and like magic, he feels the resulting loss of tension in Bucky’s muscles, the way he slumps a little and rests his weight on Steve. Just like with Banner.

“Let’s go back up to the room, Buck,” Steve says quietly, for Bucky only. Not Steve’s room, he doesn’t like calling it that despite Tony’s insistence that Steve think of it like a second home; he doesn’t really have a first him, if he bothers to think about it, so Tony’s offer of a  _ second one _ , while generous, doesn’t sit well with him most of the time. “We can talk there, okay? I’ll answer any questions you have, we can hash some things out… Okay?”

In answer, Bucky abruptly turns on his heel and scoops Steve into his arms, easy as anything, and starts walking them out of the room. Resigned to the flood of heat in his cheeks and the barrage of mocking in his near future, Steve lazily salutes his teammates just as the doors  _ swish  _ closed. 

The elevator ride up is silent, but not uncomfortably so. Silence hasn’t been deafening or oppressive with Bucky… ever, Steve realizes. There hasn’t been a single moment in their time together where Steve felt the genuine need to fill the space between them with babble, just to drown out of the quiet that grates on his nerves in the aftermath of an excessively loud war. Even now, when by all accounts things should be staggeringly awkward, Steve is just… content with himself, with them, with how they fit together.

Yeah, Steve should’ve said something sooner.  _ A lot  _ sooner.

But when the moment comes—when Bucky carefully lowers him to his feet in the middle of the minimalist living room, when he steps back and tilts his head at Steve, expectant but wholly trusting, his arms loose at his sides and his expression open, body language relaxed, when Steve has a chance to order the words in his head, make sense of them before they just about leap off his too-thick tongue… He finds he doesn’t have all that much to say.

Instead he steps forwards, brings himself right into Bucky’s space, and Bucky doesn’t flinch, doesn’t recoil, just watches him, eyes a little wide and mouth parted slightly but calm, secure in the knowledge that Steve would never hurt him. And Steve kisses him,  _ finally  _ brings their mouths together the way he’s been dying to ever since Bucky’s mask came off in the middle of a battlefield. 

Steve catalogues everything, the softness of Bucky’s lips, the little hitch in his breathing, the warmth radiating from his cheeks, the firm grip of his hands as they settled on Steve’s hips, urging him closer, closer, until they’re flush against each other. His own heart is jackhammering away in his chest, like it’s trying to bust out and meet up with Bucky’s, which might actually have Steve’s beat with its frantic galloping pace. Bucky lets out this quiet little sigh, just a whisper of a breath, and Steve feels himself smiling, can’t stop himself even it’s making the kiss pretty uncoordinated. Bucky doesn’t seem to mind, though, so Steve doesn’t berate himself all that harshly for the involuntary reaction.

They come up for air eventually, but they stay close, Bucky’s hands on his hips still and Steve’s hands having migrated to the back of Bucky’s head. They’re both smiling like god awful idiots and Steve couldn’t be happier, can be barely believe he’s  _ allowed  _ to be this happy.

“Does that clear things up any?” he asks, because that was sort of the point of this. To prove that he’s only interested in Bucky. Not Thor, not Nat, not Clint, or Tony or Banner, or whoever else Bucky feels the need to measure himself up against. Just Bucky. 

“It tells me that you are too slow,” Bucky murmurs, his lips brushing Steve’s with every word, his breath warm on Steve’s cheeks. “And that you are too pretty, solnyshko,” he adds, barreling on in spite of the stuttered protest Steve makes, “ _ Pretty _ , solnyshko, it’s true. I wouldn’t lie to you. And your team, they see it as well as I do. It’s why I don’t trust  _ them _ .”

“How about me?” Steve tries, biting back an embarrassed laugh. “You trust me?”

“Of course I do. You’re  _ good _ , Steve. You’re… everything.”

Well, that’s… it’s like Bucky’s checking every damn box on the list of things to drive Steve insane. He swallows again, digs the points of his fingers into Bucky’s skin, kneading a little at the back of his skull where it joins his neck, just to see Bucky’s flutter his lashes and bite into his lower lip. 

“You, too, Buck, you know that, right? That’s what you are to me. Can’t imagine my life without you in it, now, Buck, wouldn’t be the same, wouldn’t be nearly as nice. Just so damn sorry that you went through so much to meet me here.”

Bucky makes a distressed noise, smoothing his hands up Steve’s back in a broad sweep as he grinds their foreheads a bit harder together, nosing at Steve’s cheek. “All that matters is that I’m here,” he says, so, so soft. “That you’re here. I’m not… I would change everything if I could, but not this, not you. Never you, solnyshko.”

“Took the words right out of my mouth,” Steve says on a sigh, and then they’re kissing again, no more need for words.

They’ll have time to talk things through later, when they’ve calmed down some and aren’t feeling the need to cling so desperately to each other. Steve’ll apologize to Thor (though he doubts Thor took much offense to Bucky tackling him; the guy’s dropped some none too subtle hints to Steve about being so lucky to have the chance to  _ know  _ Bucky, in all ways, and this was before the guy got confirmation that Steve had any interest in Bucky  _ like that _ ) and take the shit-talking from his teammates. They’ll go back to the Brooklyn apartment and settle back into the routine they’ve carved out for themselves, only changed in a few key ways with the addition of this layer to their relationship.

But… later. That’s all for later. 

Steve’s more than content to take the time to catch up on everything he’s missed out on these last few months with Bucky, as long as Bucky’s game to do the same.

They’ve earned this, the both of them.

Like Bucky said—the world can wait a while longer to bother them.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I... don't know how I feel about this chapter. I had a rough time getting anything down for the first half, and then the second half felt rushed and like things were getting a little too emotional for what I'd intended this chapter to be. But. It's done, it's out, and I move one step closer to finishing this fic! All that's left if the bonus chapter where Steve gets a turn at manhandling, which I've been looking forward to way too much lmao
> 
> Anyway, thanks so much to everyone who's stuck with it until this point! I hope this chapter wasn't a total disappointment, and that I did the boys some justice with the Big Scene at the end. With all the build-up to this point, I think the actual moment's a bit of a let-down, but, well, like I said this chapter fought me. Hopefully you guys can forgive me?


End file.
